


Beauty and the Beast

by ArchduchessofBooks



Series: Alternate Disney Endings [1]
Category: Disney Princesses
Genre: Gaston Redemption, Gaston as Beast (Disney), I don't actually like Gaston but I love redemption arcs, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchduchessofBooks/pseuds/ArchduchessofBooks
Summary: When the castle crumbled beneath Gaston's feet, we all assumed him dead.But the Enchantress gave him another chance.Now Gaston wanders, far from the village, as a Beast, in a quest to regain his human form. He's expecting his "true love" to be some sweet rosy-cheeked peasant girl.He is not expecting what he gets.Will he regain his human form? Or will he stay like this forever?After all, who could learn to love a Beast?





	1. The Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody!
> 
> This is the first in my Alternate Disney Endings series! I'm hoping to do as many of the classics as I can, and maybe some newer ones, too. As Beauty and the Beast is my favorite, it gets the honor of being first.
> 
> This is my first fanfic on this site. Im also on ff.net with the same name if your curious.
> 
> Hope you like it!

The only thing that had saved him, Gaston reflected, was his reflexes. He had honed them so well during his years of hunting that they had certainly saved him in his time of need. He gave credit also to his looks: there was no way a higher power would want him to die. What would happen to his face? It would be a tragedy to let such rugged handsomeness die.

He refused to believe the tree branch currently stuck up his coat and shirt had saved him. Gaston did not get saved by pure chance. And the tree clinging to the ledge, stretched out over a chasm filled with rushing water, was chance. He’d totally engineered this.

He had yelled himself hoarse, but apparently no one had heard him. Well, he couldn’t blame them. He was rather far down the ravine and the villagers were not as athletically inclined as he was. LeFou was probably up there amassing a search party. He would gently chastise him for taking so long once he got here , and then head back to the village a hero for killing the Beast.

As for Belle, he would simply force her to marry him. He could say something like ‘poor girl, with a father like that no wonder she’s a bit flighty.’ The villagers would believe him, and with a strong man in her life and children to settle her wild spirit, Belle would surely settle down and become the quiet, dutiful wife he knew she could be.

He was in the middle of mentally naming their third son (six boys, then maybe a girl, he had decided) when he heard footsteps on the ledge above him.

Ah. The villagers were here.

He twisted around to smile up at them, wincing because of the rough bark against his back, and was met with the sight of Agatha.

Ugh. Oh well, if she was here to rescue him, he supposed he could tolerate her. Maybe even give her a kiss for her trouble.

“Agatha!” he called, giving her his best smile. “I’m so glad to see you. Are any of the others with you?”

Agatha just looked at him. Then she slowly stretched out her foot and touched the tree trunk growing on the ledge.

“Curious,” she said, “that a tree should save the life of the mighty hunter.”

Oh Lord, was she flirting with him? He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but no. Just no.

“Yes, very strange.” he agreed out loud. “Now Agatha, this branch is scratching my back rather badly and I need to make sure everyone in the village is all right.” It never hurt to pretend to care, as his dad used to say. “Is anyone else with you?”

Agatha gave a strange smile and shook her head. “Only me.”

What was it with this girl? 

“Is everyone all right?” he asked, feigning concern. He’d do just about anything to get off the tree at this point.

“Everyone’s fine. No thanks to you, Gaston.”

Agatha tapped her foot against the trunk. The tree, not very stable to begin with, wobbled. Gaston felt his shirt tear, and his heart leapt into his throat.

“A-Agatha, what are you doing?”

“Curious that this should be here. I hadn’t counted on that, but then again, I hadn’t counted on you being stupid enough to stay in the palace when the Beast told you to run.” Agatha tapped the tree harder. “You surprised me, Gaston. I thought you would be more of a coward then that.”

Gaston could feel himself shaking. “Agatha, w-what are you talking about, get me down from this damn tree!”

“I thought that was what I was doing.” The tree shook again. Gaston tried to reach back and grab the branch, but he was at an awkward angle and his shoulders hurt from the sudden stop. 

“Agatha, no, not like this, please…”

“Please? Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the word.”

“Agatha, please, I’ll do anything, anything I swear, just don’t kill me!”

“Anything?”

“Yes! Anything! Please!”

A hand clasped his shoulder and he looked up.

Agatha was crouched on the ledge above him, eyes boring into him.  
“I always was too soft-hearted for my own good.” she said softly, then shook the branch one more time.

Gastons shirt split so only his coat held him up, but dangling like that gave him more room to maneuver. He managed to swing his feet up and hook his legs around another branch before he freed his arms from his coat, grabbing on to another branch. Going slowly and carefully and wincing from the pain in his back, shoulders and biceps, he managed to work his way onto the ledge, where Agatha stood waiting.

“You said you’d do anything if I didn’t kill you.”

She was going to ask him to marry her, wasn’t she. Wonderful.

But he straightened his shoulders and said “Yes.” She would probably push him off the ledge if he didn’t.

Agatha smiled. “Good.”

She raised her hand, and suddenly pain wracked Gaston’s body.

 

“I was gentle with the Prince.” Agatha mused, and Gaston fell to his knees. “But I don’t think I’ll be the same with you.”

Gaston’s bones felt like they were reassembling themselves.

“My punishment for you is this. You are not kind, Gaston. You never have been. But I saw what happened with LeFou, in the war. You saved his life. There might still be good in you yet.”

Gaston’s skin felt like it was ripping from his body, his muscles tearing like paper.

“If your punishment is not effective, I won’t hesitate to kill you, but for now, you will wander far away from here, as a beast, like the ones you’ve hunted. You will have no palace, only a cave, and no weapons but what your beast body is equipped with. And only when you have known true, pure love, and when such affection is returned, will you return to your body.”

Suddenly, the pain stopped, and Gaston slowly pushed himself to his feet.

He glared at Agatha. “How am I going to get out of here?”

Agatha smiled and pointed downwards, where iron-gray water churned and hissed.

Gaston blinked, then scowled.”You can’t be…”

He turned back to see Agatha’s hands raised. She shoved him hard in the chest, and with an inhuman yell, he toppled over the edge and into the river.


	2. River Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha pushed him into the river. Now Gaston must try to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really short, but I hope you like all the same!

The river’s current was strong and swift, and the water itself was freezing, deep, and full of rocks. His body should have never been able to withstand it, especially not with every muscle aching from his interrupted fall and with his back torn up. Even with his heroic strength, he could barely manage to stay above the water.

He slammed into a rock shoulder-first. He felt the joint dislocate. His howl of pain was barely discernible over the roar of water, a sound he was quickly growing to hate. It filled his ears to the point where he could hear nothing else, not even his own panicked gasps for air.

The tiny part of his brain not overcome by fear wondered how far he had been swept away. He couldn’t tell if he was still in the ravine or somewhere far downriver.

Agatha’s voice rang in his head. You will wander far away from here.

If only she had specified exactly how far away he was going to wander.

His struggles were beginning to take their toll. His limbs, especially his dislocated shoulder, felt sluggish, and he was barely keeping his head above water at this point.

And then he found himself in empty space as he was flung out over a waterfall.

He yelled and tried to grab for something, but there was nothing to grab.

He fell into the river at the bottom of the waterfall, barely managing to push himself to the surface before he passed out.

When he woke, he had no idea where he was.

At least he was in calmer water. The current was still swift, but there were less rocks, and the riverbed was shallower. He managed to scrape his foot against the bottom. He found himself floating easier. 

Reaching out, he managed to grasp a root sticking out and pull himself, coughing and moaning, onto the grassy, gentle slope of the riverbank.

He rolled onto his back, gasping for air, his injured arm screaming in pain. 

The sky arched above him, a warm, pure blue. The grass was soft. The trees growing along the edge were tall, healthy, and of a kind he wasn’t familiar with: slim, with pale white trunks.

Hey, he was a hunter. He never paid attention to trees.

He was familiar with dislocated shoulders, so he grasped his wrist, took a deep breath to steady himself, then tugged, slowly but steadily, on his arm.

He gritted his teeth as his shoulder clicked back into place, then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position to examine his body.

He nearly shrieked when he saw his legs. He’d lost his boots in the river at some point, and his knees were not supposed to bend that way. They were dogs legs, ending in paws where his feet used to be. He had paws now, and claws, and…

Oh sweet Lord, he had a tail. A wolf’s tail, long and wet, covered in the same black fur as his legs.

And his arms… oh God, his arms looked like his arms, except covered in short, coarse black fur. His hands seemed human enough, but for the fur and the short, curved claws.

His hands flew to his face. More fur, and an oddly flat nose, and a beard. He ran his hands up to his head and encountered short, twisted horns. 

He scooted towards the river and leaned over.

His eyes were still human, and his mouth was oddly human, as well. His hair was now slightly thicker fur falling over his head and shoulders.

He was scary. He was grotesque. 

He was a beast.

Agatha hadn’t been kidding. Why, she was some sort of witch! He was willing to bet none of the villagers knew that little tidbit of information. He was going to start a witch hunt when he got back.

How did she say he could change back? By finding “true, pure love?”

Well, she had picked the wrong person to attach that particular challenge to. He’d had women falling over him since he learned how to wink. Even in his new guise, all he had to do was turn up the charm a little more. He’d get some cute peasant girl to fall for him in no time. He’d dally with her a while, then go back to the village and marry Belle. 

He tried out a grin on his new beast face. His reflection in the water showcased sharp, pointed teeth.

This was going to be easy.


	3. Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston's first night as a beast does not go well. In the morning, he mulls over his new life.

It was not easy.

First off, he could barely walk, unused to the way his body shifted and balanced, the unusual weight of his tail behind him and the odd way his legs were bent tripping him up more than he’d like to admit. He was bigger than he was used to, his clothes too small, and his wet fur weighed him down. His head kept falling under the weight of his horns. He felt like a boy again, all limbs and sharp knees and elbows, with more bruises than he could count because suddenly every inanimate object in the world was out to get him.

Second, his senses were too sharp. Every bird that fluttered past sounded far too loud in his ears, causing him to wince and duck away. The breeze was a constant background noise. When a tree branch creaked, he jumped about a foot in the air and barely managed to stifle a yelp. He resorted to stumbling around with his hands over his ears, which served the dual purpose of looking undignified and messing with his balance even more.

And third, the cherry on top of his new miserable existence, he was hungry. Starving, really. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hungry. 

So he stumbled along, bitterly cursing everyone and everything he could think of. He was so busy luxuriating in his misery that he didn’t notice the storm brewing until it seemed a ton of water poured from the heavens directly on top of his head.

Cursing aloud now, his beast-voice lower and rougher than his human one, he did his best to run, trying to take shelter under tree branches, the rain sending fur into his eyes and stinging the wounds in his back. Thunder rumbled, and the sound instantly gave him a massive headache. Lightning flashed, and his vision went white and darkened again only after he had run face-first into several trees and tripped over a log. 

It was while he was lying there on the wet grass, now with a possibly sprained ankle, that he noticed the stone outcropping near him. He hadn’t even noticed the cliff until now. He stumbled to his feet and headed towards it, slipping and sliding on slick, wet grass. Lightning flashed again just before he reached it, and he had another face-first encounter with the stone.

 

Rubbing his nose, Gaston looked up at the top of the cliff once his vision cleared. No shelter there. He looked along the sides, and then he had his first piece of good luck: A cave was only a few feet from him.

Feeling along the stone, he managed to make it into the cave.

His new nose told him nothing else lived here, and so, wet, cold, hurt, and exhausted, Gaston lay down, curling up instinctively on the hard stone floor, and fell asleep.

…

When he woke, he could smell rain in the air, but his ears didn’t register the sound of a storm, so he carefully uncurled himself, wincing at his stiff, sore muscles, and crawled across the floor to the mouth of the cave.

The world outside was clean and friendly, dew gathering on the grass and trees glistening in the sunlight. When he poked his head outside, a drop of icy rain water fell onto his bruised nose, causing him to startle and shake his head.

Gaston crept carefully out, using the side of the cliff to pull himself to his feet, wincing as the effects of a night spent sleeping on unforgiving stone made themselves known. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling muscles stretch and joints pop back into place. His neck cracked when he moved his head. He was thirsty. His throat felt like sandpaper and it hurt to swallow. His stomach felt hollow. The wounds on his back stung, and his face ached, and his ankle throbbed with every beat of his heart, but he was alive.

His ears picked up the sound of a river rushing nearby, so he mustered up his strength and stumbled towards it. 

The river was icy cold, but it soothed his thirst. Unfortunately, that made his hunger all the more prominent. His stomach gave an impatient growl.

He pushed his hands through the thick fur growing on his back and shoulders, getting it out of his eyes, and examined himself in the water.

His shirt was ripped all down the back and in several other places. He scowled and pulled it off. His pants seemed fine, so he kept them on and tossed the shirt in the water. It floated away downstream and he turned resolutely away.

First order of business: he needed food. His gun was gone, and he refused to hunt with his claws and teeth like an animal. He wasn’t an animal, even if his current guise said otherwise.

Besides, even if he did manage to hunt the way he was, he had no way to start a fire, and if he set the forest on fire, in his current clumsy state he couldn’t run away.

So meat was out of the question. 

He almost called for Lefou before he remembered his friend was no longer there.

That was something else that kept him feeling off balance: the constant absence of his friend, who had been by Gaston’s side since the war, when he had saved his life. Gaston was new in his regiment and wanted to prove himself, so when a musket had gone off, he’d tackled Lefou to the ground. The musket ball whistled harmlessly overhead.

And from then on, Lefou had trailed after him like an annoying, endlessly cheerful shadow. He had been slightly creeped out by it at first, but had soon realized the benefits to having someone who stuck by him no matter what.

Lefou was useful in other ways: he always managed to cheer Gaston up when he was feeling down, women flocked to him even more so than usual because he appeared kind, with a less handsome, less talented friend always at his side, and he did whatever Gaston told him too without question. He was Gaston’s tether to reality when anger washed his vision in red and swept his reason away like dust before a gale. Lefou was the only friend Gaston had ever had.

And after so many years with him at his elbow, it was unsettling to be alone again.

He had always hated to be alone. He surrounded himself with people whenever possible. When he was a boy, he had tagged along after his father from the time he could walk. He had crawled after his mother and clung to her skirts when he was a babe. His older sister had once told him he bawled whenever he was put down and left in his cradle, until his mother had fashioned a sling so he was snuggled close to her side at all times to keep his cries from annoying his father.

Well, he could manage. He was Gaston, after all: strong and capable and good at everything. He could survive alone for awhile, until he found “true love.”

He snorted. He had heard his mother read tales full of the stuff to his sisters when he was a boy, but his father had beaten that silly nonsense out of him. It didn’t exist, he’d told him. It was something that women made up to sigh over when they should be quiet, stories they told to keep little girls heads in the clouds and keep them from attending to their wifely duties.

Unfortunately, he had to find something that passed for it to get rid of this curse.

So for now, he set off until he found a pine tree, stripped off some of the rough outer bark, and peeled some of the softer inner bark out, stuffing that in his mouth. He remembered eating this on long hunting trips, when the food in his satchel was depleted. The taste was hard to get used to, but it was edible, and he needed to keep up his strength.  
He would learn to survive as a Beast, he decided. It would be hard to woo a girl, even a simple one, if he could barely stand up straight. 

Agatha’s warning lingered in the back of his mind.

“If your punishment is not effective, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Gaston rather liked being alive, so he would have to be at the top of his game if he wished to stay that way. His punishment would not be effective if he couldn’t break it, right? He wasn’t exactly sure how curses worked.

He straightened his shoulders.

He could do this.


	4. A Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his first year as a beast, Gaston hears two screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the terrible title and summary for this chapter.

It had been almost a month, and Gaston was finally adjusting.

He had been sleeping in the cave he’d found that first night, dragging in a bed of pine needles and fallen leaves to cushion the floor. He had learned to walk and run in his new beast body and manage his strength and senses so it was no longer painful to open his eyes in the morning. He had caught and killed a squirrel with a twist of his powerful fingers, breaking its neck, and skinned it using his claws, before managing to start a fire in his cave and cook it. He was feeling quite accomplished.

But then something had happened.

All this time, he had been operating under the delusion that all he had to do to get a girl to fall in love with him was be himself, just a little more charming to make up for his appearance.  
He was sure that was all he needed: it was all he’d needed as a human.

But then he’d run into a pretty peasant girl, apparently come all this way to pick apples in an orchard on the other side of the river.

He’d seen her across the river when he’d come for his morning wash. She’d had her back to him, braiding long hair the color of honey. She’d been wearing a dress like Belle had often worn, in a shade of fresh spring green with a snowy white pinafore, a basket by her side full of red apples. She’d coiled and pinned the braid into a bun on the crown of her head, then turned and saw him.

Her blue eyes had gone wide, her mouth dropping open, a dainty hand flying to her chest as she stared at him.

He flashed her a roguish wink and said “Why hello there”, sure that would make her smile and blush like every other girl he’d tried that move on.

Instead, she’d screamed, grabbed her basket, and run away, screaming “Monster!”

And even now, a week later, the word still echoed in his head.

Was this his punishment? How was he supposed to find love if potential love interests kept running away? Damn Agatha for putting this on him. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but was anyone? And okay, maybe he could have been nicer to people, but they had all loved him regardless. Being nice had always seemed so pointless, anyway. His father had never been nice, and he had done just fine. Why should Gaston have to be any different?

Right. Because he had a witch’s curse on him, trapping him in the body of a beast. That’s why he had to be different.

He had been sulking in his cave since that incident, unable to stop hearing “Monster!” echoing all around him.

His thoughts drifted back to times in the village tavern, warm and bright, the good food and ale, the fire crackling near his chair, dancing with some of the women, those three pretty dark-haired girls he’d seen around the village dressed in pink skirts and white pinafores staring at him and fluttering their eyelashes.

And now he was sitting in a cold, dark cave, far away from that quiet little town. He wondered if the villagers missed him. He wondered if Lefou missed him. He even found himself wondering if Belle missed him. Or had Agatha erased him from the memories of the villagers? He wouldn’t put it past her.

When hunger finally drove him from his cave, he stayed in the shadows. He learned to hunt rabbits, birds, and squirrels with his hands. He fished in the river when no one else was around. He wove a wall of supple young pine branches to cover the mouth of his cave, hide the firelight and keep warmth in. He saw the pretty blonde who’d screamed when she saw him one more time, this time laughing and walking with a young man, her arm threaded through his and her eyes shining with adoration.

Crouched in the bushes by the river, Gaston watched them out of sight, then went to his cave and sulked until nightfall. He felt better then: he was not a monster at night. The other creatures may be afraid of him, but they had no voices to call him a monster.

He felt a certain kinship with the moon and stars. They too, were lonely. 

And so Gaston spent a year, through summer, fall, and a long, cold winter. When spring came, he emerged from his cave cold, lean, and hungry. 

He was just beginning to hunt when he heard a scream.

He recognized that sound. A wildcat screamed like that.

 

He’d encountered only one other since he’d landed here, in the middle of winter, when he’d gone to the river to try and break through the ice, hoping to score some fish.He’d seen the tracks, then spun and seen the cat itself.

They had locked eyes, and Gaston had prepared for a fight, but the wildcat had eyed him up and down before turning away and stalking off, tail lashing.

And now, he got an idea.

He would need more than the berries, bark, pine nuts and the occasional bird or rabbit if he wanted to recover from that winter. The wildcat had no such reservations that he had, and he knew he was bigger and stronger than it was. He’d learned to walk quietly. He’d follow the cat, wait until it killed whatever it was hunting, than chase it away and take the kill back to his cave.

Pleased with the plan, Gaston set off. He knew the wildcat wasn’t far.

He heard it scream once more as he neared the top of a small rise. And then another scream echoed through the woods.

A human scream.

Gaston was so surprised, he forgot to look where he was going. He tripped, which sent him stumbling down the slope with a roar of surprise. Unable to stop himself, he slammed straight into the wildcat, which was mid-pounce on whatever it had been hunting. 

The wildcat let out a furious yowl and attacked. Gaston defended himself as best he could, swiping with his claws, grabbing the scruff of the cat and throwing it down, trying to catch it in a chokehold. The cat was fast, clawing and biting and tearing, using Gaston as a climbing wall as it nimbly evaded his claws and teeth. Blood ran warm over his limbs and got in his eyes.

Finally he managed to get a good grip on the scruff of its neck and ripped it off of him with a roar. He threw it into a nearby tree, and the wildcat, also wounded, streaked away.

Gaston, his legs shaking under him, looked up to see what exactly the wildcat had been hunting. 

He met the wide, terrified eyes of a little boy about five, dressed in a shirt and breeches. Small, soft leather half-boots were on his feet.

A quick stab of disappointment curled in Gaston’s belly. It looked like he’d be eating another squirrel after all.

Then his legs buckled under him, and he collapsed.

The little boy turned and yelled “MAMAN! HELP!”

Gaston’s eyelids felt like stone. He let them close.

Running footsteps pounded very close, and he heard a new voice, saying something his rapidly fading brain couldn’t make out.

The last thing he felt before blacking out completely was a hand touching his shoulder.


	5. An Unusual Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston meets the little boy he rescued, and his first name is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Gaston is actually his last name, not his first. When Belle is singing after Gaston asks her to marry him, she refers to herself as "Madame Gaston," which would mean that if she married him, that would be her title. So I gave him a first name.

Chapter Five

When Gaston woke up, he found himself in a small, well-built little room, wrapped in clean bandages, a warm blanket spread over him and a fire going in a small fireplace in the corner to counteract the chill of early spring. He felt warm and sleepy. He let his eyes drift shut again.

Then the door to the room opened, and he heard light footsteps. 

His heartbeat sped up. He pretended to still be asleep, hoping to puzzle out this situation.

Another set of footsteps entered the room, then a whisper came from near the door.

“Will the beast be okay?”

Gaston recognized the little boy the wildcat had been hunting, though his heart seized at the word “beast.” It had a different sound to it than “monster”, less of a negative word and more of a fact. He supposed it was true: he was not a human anymore: he was a beast.

“I don’t know.”

The other voice was low, almost husky, and the owner peeled back a bandage on Gaston’s arm.

“He is healing well, but there are many injuries. There may be something we cannot fix.”

“But you’ll do your best, right?”

The other voice, which Gaston was fairly sure was a woman’s, took on an affectionate tone.

“Certainly. Go out now, Mathias, and play. The beast needs rest.”

“Yes, Maman.” The footsteps left.

“Stay near the house.” the woman called after him.

The moment another door, presumably the outside door, closed, the woman’s voice changed.

“I know your not asleep.”

Startled, Gaston stilled, eyes still closed. He heard an exasperated sigh, then the voice again.

“Open your eyes.”

Something in the voice warned him it would be a bad idea to disobey. He opened his eyes.

The face looking back at him was a womans, plain and severe, like a hawks. She raised an eyebrow at him. Her eyes studied him.

The woman held a bowl out. “Drink.”

Gaston tried to lift his arms, but couldn’t, the muscles protesting. He grunted in pain.

The woman rolled her eyes and held the bowl to his mouth. Gratefully, he opened it, and she poured a steaming hot liquid down his throat.

Gaston spluttered and tried to spit it out, but the woman clamped her hand over his mouth and held his nose with the other. He swallowed, then coughed when she released him. His throat burned, and he gave her a reproachful look.

The woman laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “That was meadowsweet and ginger tea. It should help bring down your fever.” Her voice was brisk and businesslike, so far removed from the gentle tone she’d adopted with the boy Gaston was wondering if this was the same woman.

He smacked his lips. The taste lingering in his mouth wasn’t half bad: savory and sweet, with a hint of spice, leaving behind an aftertaste of almonds and honey. 

The warmth in his belly made him aware of the warmth in his head. He felt, suddenly, too hot, and made to throw off the blanket covering him.

“Oh no you don’t.” the woman said, covering him back up. “It’s best if you sweat it out. Here.”

She turned to the side, dipped a washcloth into a bowl of water, and draped the damp cloth over his face. He felt instantly cooler.

“I don’t know what you were doing out there, but you saved my son. For that, I am grateful, and it’s the only reason you are in my home instead of dying out in the woods.”

Gaston had never heard a woman talk to him like this. He had rather expected a soft voice and gentle words, not whatever this woman was dishing out. He blinked at her when she removed the wet cloth from his face, then studied her as she crouched beside the fireplace and poked at the flames with an iron poker.

She was not like the other women he was used to. Her hair draped over her shoulders and back like a glossy black curtain: he was used to womens hair being neatly done up. She wore the clothes of a hunter: leather breeches, boots, and a loose cotton shirt, instead of skirts, a corset, or hoops. She had a different shape as well, her body lean and strong and straight as an arrow, no softness or curves to it. Her features echoed the same lines: straight dark eyebrows, defined jawline, pointed chin, proud straight nose and a firm mouth. Her profile was striking against the firelight. Her dark eyes were tilted slightly and held the keen, intelligent gleam he had seen so often in the eyes of foxes and wolves.

She rose, came back to him, and unwrapped another of the numerous bandages around his arms and upper torso. Her skin was tanned, hands strong and callused instead of soft, her every movement sure and confident. He noticed a spray of freckles across her nose and high, sharp cheekbones, which added a touch of lighthearted sweetness to an otherwise plain, stoic face.

If he had to have a woman nurse him back to health, Gaston thought sourly, she could have at least been meek and breathtakingly lovely. A Venus, not a Diana.

His attention was brought abruptly back to earth when she tightened the bandage she’d loosened. 

“You’re still healing.” she told him. “Get some rest.”

She headed for the door. She moved like a prowling cat, every movement graceful and controlled, her footsteps soft as velvet. It was only with his new hearing he was able to hear her. 

She closed the door after herself, and Gaston could hear the boy pipe up.

“Is he awake, Maman?”

“Yes, but still very weak. Don’t go in and bother him, Mathias.”

“Isn’t he big, Maman? What could have made something like that? He’s not like any other creature I’ve ever seen!”

“Hush, Mathias, you’ll wake him.”

Gaston was left alone, in pain. 

He looked suspiciously around the room. Dried herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling, tied with string and giving the whole room a dusty-spicy-sweet smell. In shelves all along the wall, vegetables and fruit sat in baskets. Sacks of flour, sugar, and salt were lined up neatly along one wall, and leaned in a corner was a bolt of cloth, obviously meant for making clothes.

Gaston settled back onto the bedroll he was reclined on, beginning to feel sleepy.

The door creaked open.

The little boy from yesterday crept in, hazel eyes wide and fixed on Gaston. He jumped guiltily when he saw Gaston was awake.

“Salut.” he gasped. “Don’t tell Maman I’m in here!”

The request was said so earnestly that Gaston had to smile.

“It’s all right.” he said, endeavoring to make his voice gentle. He didn’t want the woman to kick him out, still wounded, if he scared him. “I won’t tell.”

The boy closed the door and crept closer, his eyes flicking all over Gaston’s face.

“You talk, too!” he gasped. “What kinda Beast are you?” He had a slight childish lisp.

Gaston couldn’t come up with an answer to that, so he shrugged.

“D’ya have a name?” the boy asked curiously. 

Gaston shrugged. He didn’t want to tell the boy his old name. He was no longer Gaston the hunter, the charmer. He was no longer a hero. 

“You must have one!” the boy said. “What did your mother call you?”

And that gave Gaston an idea.

For years, he had gone only by his last name, as his father did before him, to the point where only his mother and sisters called him by his Christian name. Gaston had become a hero without anyone, even Lefou, suspecting he might have another name.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, Gaston had died in a river a year ago.

“I am Fabien.” he said, the name heavy and awkward in his mouth. He hadn’t said his Christian name in years.

“Fabien.” the boy tried out, before grinning. “I’m Mathias.”

“And I’m Jeanne.” came a voice from the doorway. Both Gaston and Mathias jumped and turned to look at the door, where the woman was leaning against the doorframe.

“Didn’t I ask you not to come in here, Mathias?” Jeanne asked, raising an eyebrow. Mathias blushed and went to her, wrapping his arms around her in a bid for forgiveness.

“Sorry, Maman.”

Something about hearing that word and seeing the two together made something click in Gaston’s mind. He looked closer.

Mathias looked about five or six, a healthy, robust little boy with sandy hair, fair skin covered in freckles, and bright hazel eyes fringed by blonde eyelashes. He couldn’t possibly be this woman’s son.

And then something else clicked. Where was this woman’s husband? 

Jeanne’s voice cut through his thoughts, crisp and curt, as she ushered Mathias out of the room. “Now that you have introduced yourself to my son, I would like to know your name as well.” Her tone told him it was not a question.

“Er, Fabien.” Gaston said, still trying to get used to the feel of his name. No one had said it aloud since his mother had died.

Jeanne nodded her head. “Sleep now, Monsieur Fabien. I’ll wish you good night.” She sounded begrudging and detached, like something about the phrase bothered her and was part of a routine.

“Good night?” he called after her uncertainly. He had no idea what to say to that.

She shut the door behind her with a firm thud.


End file.
